"One two three four five six seven eight nine"




Uhh, it's the ten crack commandments

What, uhh, uhh

Nigga can't tell me nothin bout this coke, uh-huh

Can't tell me nothin bout this crack, this weed

To my hustlin niggaz

Niggaz on the corner I ain't forget you niggaz

My triple beam niggaz, word up



(Chuck D) "One two three four five six seven eight nine"

"TEN"


I been in this game for years, it made me a animal

It's rules to this shit, I wrote me a manual

A step by step booklet for you to get

Your game on track, not your wig pushed back

Rule nombre uno: never let no one know

How much, dough you hold, cause you know

The cheddar breed jealousy 'specially

If that man fucked up, get your ass stuck up

Number two: never let em know your next move

Don't you know Bad Boys move in silence or violence

Take it from your highness (uh-huh)

I done squeezed mad clips at these cats for they bricks and chips

Number three: never trust no-bo-dy

Your moms'll set that ass up, properly gassed up

Hoodie to mask up, shit, for that fast buck

She be layin in the bushes to light that ass up

Number four: know you heard this before

Never get high, on your own supply

Number five: never sell no crack where you rest at

I don't care if they want a ounce, tell em bounce

Number six: that god damn credit, dead it

You think a crackhead payin you back, shit forget it

Seven: this rule is so underrated

Keep your family and business completely seperated

Money and blood don't mix like two dicks and no bitch

Find yourself in serious shit

Number eight: never keep no weight on you

Them cats that squeeze your guns can hold jobs too

Number nine shoulda been number one to me

If you ain't gettin bags stay the fuck from police (uh-huh)

If niggaz think you snitchin ain't tryin listen

They be sittin in your kitchen, waitin to start hittin

Number ten: a strong word called consignment

Strictly for live men, not for freshmen

If you ain't got the clientele say hell no

Cause they gon want they money rain sleet hail snow

Follow these rules you'll have mad bread to break up

If not, twenty-four years, on the wake up

Slug hit your temple, watch your frame shake up

Caretaker did your makeup, when you pass

Your girl fucked my man Jake up, heard in three weeks

She sniffed a whole half of cake up

Heard she suck a good dick, and can hook a steak up

Gotta go gotta go, more pies to bake up, word up, uhh



Crack king, Frank Blizzard

Uhh



(Chuck D) "One two three four five six seven eight nine"

"Ten"

Aw shit, nigga, what the fuck time is it, man?

Oh God damn, nigga do you know what time it is?

Aw shit, what the fuck's goin' on? You alright?

Aw, nigga what the fuck is wrong wit you?



When I die, fuck it I wanna go to hell



'Cause I'm a piece of shit, it ain't hard to fuckin' tell



It don't make sense, goin' to heaven wit the goodie-goodies



Dressed in white, I like black Tims and black hoodies





God will probably have me on some real strict shit



No sleepin' all day, no gettin' my dick licked



Hangin' with the goodie-goodies loungin' in paradise



Fuck that shit, I wanna tote guns and shoot dice





All my life I been considered as the worst



Lyin' to my mother, even stealin' out her purse



Crime after crime, from drugs to extortion



I know my mother wished she got a fuckin' abortion





She don't even love me like she did when I was younger



Suckin' on her chest just to stop my fuckin' hunger



I wonder if I died, would tears come to her eyes?



Forgive me for my disrespect, forgive me for my lies





My babies' mothers 8 months, her little sister's 2



Who's to blame for both of them



(Naw nigga, not you)



I swear to God I just want to slit my wrists and end this bullshit





Throw the Magnum to my head, threaten to pull shit



And squeeze, until the bed's, completely red



I'm glad I'm dead, a worthless fuckin' Buddha head



The stress is buildin' up, I can't





I can't believe suicide's on my fuckin' mind



I want to leave, I swear to God I feel like death is fuckin' callin' me



Naw you wouldn't understand



(Nigga, talk to me please)



You see it's kinda like the crack did to Pookie, in New Jack





Except when I cross over, there ain't no comin' back



Should I die on the train track, like Remo in Beat street



People at the funeral frontin' like they miss me



My baby momma kissed me but she glad I'm gone





She knew me and her sista had somethin' goin' on



I reach my peak, I can't speak



Call my nigga Chic, tell him that my will is weak



I'm sick of niggas lyin', I'm sick of bitches hawkin'



Matter of fact, I'm sick of talkin'





Hey yo Big, hey yo Big